


A Cure For Homesickness

by bongbingbong



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Autistic Character, Basically Lower Decks but it's on DS9 and it's my friends and I, Gen, Julian Bashir in Disguise, Kidnapping, Mild torture, Mostly just zaps with a Klingon painstick, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong
Summary: A teacher, a tech support worker, and one of the security team are randomly kidnapped off DS9 - seemingly for no reason. Things get a bit complicated when Sisko discovers that the Cardassians are involved, so Julian and Garak need to work together to get them back.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10
Collections: Deep Space Discord Literary Universe





	A Cure For Homesickness

**Author's Note:**

> Ever been so invested in your OCs that you have to give them a whole ass adventure of their own? Anyway, that's me here, having a bit of a go at plotting something all the way through. It was oddly a very cathartic experience to just pour a bunch of my experiences with being autistic into this one - I've never written anything so fast, or so easily.

The night shift in ops was, as a contrast to the daytime shift, extremely soothing. Emergencies were generally few and far between - after hours security issues were generally concentrated around the area where Quark’s was, and that suited M just fine. She had a relatively small to-do list tonight, mostly some translations of stray subspace communications Odo had picked up and wanted reports on for him to look at in the morning. She sat at her post, homemade quilt draped across her legs and an untouched sandwich on a plate balanced precariously on the console next to her. The ambient noise of the station was more noticeable at night - it was as though the station itself breathed and stretched around them. Gentle creaking noises and the faint swirling whispers of the life support systems intermingled with the soft beeps of the other two active workstations. 

The sharp hiss of the lift sounded behind her, and M turned to see Robertson, clad in their party pants - the soft, polka dotted pyjama pants they favoured as night wear. 

“You’re up late,” said M as they approached her. They were balancing a tray with four mugs on it, and their ever-present PADD.

“Couldn’t sleep,” they said, placing a steaming mug of something sweet-smelling next to her sandwich.

“Hot chocolate?” said M, inhaling deeply.

“Made it myself,” said Robertson, handing two of the drinks off to the other two night shift workers, and taking the final one for themself. They wrapped their hands around their mug, shivering - everyone swore the temperature on the station got turned down at night, but time and time again it was dismissed as rumour.

“Anything interesting tonight?” said Robertson, handing off their PADD to M. It was a direct communique to Chancellor Gowron, so the translation would have to be handled delicately. Not the sort of thing you wanted to just run through the UT.

“Hmm, not really. Stuff that’s kind of irrelevant to us, petty disputes mostly. There is this one though,” said M, tapping one of the PADDs they’d set to the side, “that I’m curious about. It looks like it’s Cardassian in origin, but there’s a weird kind of encryption on it. I’m going to ask Odo what we can do about it in the morning, I think.”

“Or Garak, if you get him on a good day,” said Robertson. They sipped at their drinks quietly. 

“You look tired,” said M, “isn’t it time to clock off for the day?”

“Hmm,” agreed Robertson, though they made no move to leave, “I guess so, but I’m not technically Starfleet, so I don’t really “clock off.” It’s not a school night anyway, so it’s not so bad.”

The station shifted and creaked behind them and while M barely registered the noise, Robertson jumped back, their eyes wide and startled.

“It’s fine Rob, it’s just the station. Good old DS9, doing her best.”

“Yeah,” said Robertson. They hovered for a bit, looking a little unsure of what to say, or perhaps how to put what they wanted to say.

“Is it ever scary for you here in ops?” they blurted out. M stared at them in surprise.

“What do you mean?” she said, looking around. If anything this place, the stars, her friends, her blanket… it was all home to her.

“Well, the lights are all turned down at night. It’s all dark and shadows everywhere in this big, empty station. Do you ever feel like you’re being watched? Or like something’s following you… waiting?”

Robertson shivered, and M squeezed their shoulder.

“I think what you need is to go to bed.”

“Do we have another member of the make-Robertson-go-to-sleep club?” called Bond, shattering the quiet.

“Oh yeah, like the night shift staff have any say there. Pot, kettle,” came Robertson’s retort. The moment had passed, the fear had dissolved.

“Any heads I need to crack tonight?” said Bond, wandering over to where they were. She picked up M’s mug and took a sip.

“Homemade right? Nice.”

“Would’ve made you one if I knew you were going to be around. Aren’t you normally checking out Quark’s?” said Robertson

“Yeah, some Bajoran festival’s on so everyone’s out pretending to be pious for the night. Quark’s pretty livid about it, but the bar’s a bit of a bore. There’s only so much time you can spend making sure Morn isn’t doing anything illegal. Or you know, that there aren’t any unauthorised couplings going on around the-”

“You know what? I changed my mind - I don’t wanna know,” said Robertson.

They patted M on the back and waved to the other ops crew.

“I’m off to get a snack, and then I’m going to try for bed again,” they announced. 

“Oh, a snack sounds good actually,” said Bond, and the two of them left in the lift, Robertson feeling slightly better for knowing they didn’t have to brave the empty corridors of Deep Space Nine on their own for now.

*

Savannah couldn’t sleep either. Not for lack of trying; she’d lain in bed for hours already with her eyes closed, but for some reason tonight, there was something niggling at the back of her mind that she just couldn’t get to shut up. She’d already been up to the infirmary, but had backtracked quickly when she’d seen Julian expertly handling some irate Talarians.

Now, she was sat in the replimat with a very large chocolate fudge sundae, because if tonight was going to be a write-off, she was going to at least make it worth her while. She was blasting some 21st century Mika through her aural implants as she ate, relishing having the entire space to herself.

Suddenly, a plate of cookies landed in front of her and she screamed, brandishing her dessert spoon like a weapon. It was Bond and Robertson, staring at her in confusion. Robertson’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She turned the implants off.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Oh. You were listening to those implant things again, yeah?” said Robertson.

“Yep! They’re amazing, but I definitely was not expecting company tonight. What are you guys doing up?”

“I’m the senior officer on duty so I haven’t had a break yet. I’m going to give myself a quick one now,” said Bond, “and Rob can’t sleep.”

Savannah shot a sympathetic smile their way, “I can relate to that,” she said.

The clunk of footsteps behind them made all three friends jump. There was a short, smooth-skinned grey humanoid in the entrance to the replimat, holding a small black box in the palm of its hand.

“Hello?” said Bond, hand slowly reaching for her phaser. Instead of replying, the stranger pressed a button on the box, emitting a hissing sound. The last wobbly, hysterical thought that made its way through Savannah’s mind as she lost consciousness was the absolute ridiculousness of the three people this person, whoever it was, had chosen to target.

*

Glinn Kivi Olnak was enjoying his evening meal when the communication came in. He ate alone as always, taking the full amount of time allotted for it plus a little extra, since nobody would care anyway. He was the senior ranking officer here, after all. It was a low-security facility that he oversaw, one for petty crimes, one that garnered very little public interest in its proceedings. People came in, were exposed for being guilty, and they were imprisoned, exiled, or killed. Despite the comforting familiarity of the judicial process, it could get tedious if the stakes were low enough. Olnak could - and did - give himself as many breaks as he pleased.

When the communication came in through, he jumped up from his interrupted meal with glee, making his way outside to receive the transport with his three brand new prisoners. It would be easy to house them here. Vaal, Briva, and Hordra were paid quickly and with no reservations, and the prisoners were brought down into the cell he had designated for them. Federation intelligence, with ties to the intercepted transmission Legate Parn had been all worked up about earlier. He would be out of here soon enough - perhaps they might even make him a Gul.

*

The world swam back into focus very, very slowly. The first thing that registered was touch - wherever they were, it was cold. The second thing was grey - a vast expanse of grey that shifted through a roiling fog that made the three prisoners feel nauseous. Then, fear. Sharp bolts of it that kickstarted their heartbeats and filled them with near-painful, white hot adrenaline. The feeling of disorientation as they realised they were no longer on Deep Space Nine.

Savannah blinked hard, toppling forwards onto all fours as she struggled to get her balance. The floor was a hard, oddly porous substance that ate up all of the sound. Dragging a hand over it produced an inhuman grating sound that elicited a noise of distress from somewhere close to her. 

“Where-” she tried to say, but the sound came out garbled and confused. She shook her head, and forced it up, trying to figure out where they were. She had no idea. They were in a cell. It was cold. It was grey. They’d been taken somewhere, and that somewhere was not a good place. Savannah scooted back as far as she could go, pressing herself into the corner of the room as tears began to well up in her eyes. In front of her, she could see Robertson and Bond struggling to their feet, holding onto the wall for support.

Bond’s voice was slow and slurred, like it was being dragged through molasses, “Cardassian facility. Low security. I can get us out of here,” 

“Thank god,” said Robertson. Their legs were shaking, but they managed to stay upright. They looked over at Savannah.

“Are you okay?” they said. They swayed a little as they spoke, their words as slurred as Bond’s. The unfamiliarity of the sounds coming out of her friends on top of everything else sent Savannah over the edge.

“No!” she cried, “I’m not okay, none of this is okay! Where are we?” 

The door to the room slid open, and in walked three Cardassians - two guards and one officer, by the look of their uniforms. Bond and Robertson shared a look, and together they placed themselves in front of where Savannah was huddled against the wall.

“Starfleet intelligence,” said the officer, his smile all teeth, “welcome. My name is Olnak, and you will answer to me during your stay.”

“Well, I don’t know about intelligence, but I’d be willing to bet we’re more intelligent than any of you,” said Bond, lifting her chin. Behind her, Savannah buried her head in her hands, barely willing to believe that this was happening.

“What do you want from us?” she sobbed, “why are you doing this?”

Robertson’s hands curled into white-knuckled fists, unable to take their eyes off Olnak to check on Savannah.

“Oh, I think at least one of you knows why,” said Olnak.

He had been holding his hands behind his back, but withdrew them to display a long, thin stick that Bond recognised all too well. She was unable to hide the way she flinched away from it.

“I can see that you know what this is,” said Olnak, “good.”

“Oh yeah, glory to the Cardassian empire!” replied Bond, “The almighty superpower that has to pinch Klingon painsticks to supplement their shitty torture chambers!”

Olnak smiled that same humourless, indulgent smile at her, but made no move otherwise. A feeling of dread began to grow amongst the terror Bond was feeling - this wasn’t the way this usually went. 

“It’s funny, I’ve never encountered Terrans before in the flesh, but I had thought that the stories we hear about you were some sort of exaggeration. I can see that I was mistaken.”

“What do you-” Bond’s question was cut off by the swift movement of the two guards, who grabbed her and Robertson, swiftly cuffing their hands behind them. The painstick crackled once with electricity, and was promptly jammed into Robertson’s stomach. An inarticulate cry of agony rent the air as he held it there for one, two, three seconds. Robertson crumpled to the floor next to Savannah, who looked on in horror. Olnak went over to them and bent over their spasming body.

“That was extraordinary, don’t you think?” he said loudly, “your friend over there trying to make herself a target? She must think I’m a complete imbecile!”

He nudged them with the toe of his boot, and sighed.

“Originally I thought perhaps it was a mistake to allow all three of you to be captured. But now, I think it’s allowed me to expose your weaknesses much faster than I expected. You Terrans care far too much about each other. We’ll have our answers soon enough.”

*

Night shift on Deep Space Nine was uneventful as always, except of course that tonight, M had decided that a little break in the monotony was needed. An apple pie was balanced on the console tonight, homemade (with replicated ingredients). A small serving spatula and a pile of napkins sat next to it. 

The pie had long gone cold, and M had stopped turning to look at the lift every few minutes at this point. There were only a couple of hours left until the morning shift took over, and there had still been no sign from Robertson or Bond. Or Savannah, who occasionally showed up if Julian was busy. Perhaps she was with the doctor now - they’d already taken several slices out of the pie, and it was a shame to let it go to waste.

“Computer, locate Lieutenant, er, Savannah?” said M, hoping that the computer knew what she was talking about. What was her last name anyway?   
“The Lieutenant is not on Deep Space Nine,” came the reply.

That was weird. Maybe she was on leave.

“Okay then uh, computer, locate Lieutenant Bond,” she tried.

“The Lieutenant is not on Deep Space Nine,” came the reply.

“What? Computer, locate Professor Robertson,” she said, her voice taking on a tinge of panic. Robertson’s words the other night came back to her, the feeling that they were being watched, or followed. What if-

“Starfleet records do not recognise a ‘Professor Robertson’ in our database. Please check the name and try again.”

Of course they didn't, Robertson was just a contractor. Was there something wrong with the computer?

“Computer, locate Ensign M.”

“Ensign M is located in Station Operations.”

Something was very, very wrong. M wasn’t sure what it could be, but once the morning shift started, she would be getting it checked out. It could just be a coincidence - but some indefinable feeling in her gut told her it was something more than just that.

*

The problem with captivity was that time became elastic. Seconds drew out into hours, like a big rubber band stretched within an inch of breaking, pulled taut with stress and nerves and fear - and then snapped back. Hours rolled by in the blink of an eye, and suddenly the three prisoners found that they had been there for long enough to be tired and hungry. 

“It doesn’t make sense!” muttered Bond, who had been prowling the length of their cell like a restless tiger. They had left her hands cuffed behind her back, and that more than anything, was chafing at her sanity.

Savannah had long since run out of tears, but she had not moved from her corner, where Robertson sat huddled with their arm around her shoulders. Robertson had been humming small snippets of Terran songs, the bizarre old stuff that they and Susan seemed to enjoy. Other than that, they had not spoken a word, and Savannah and Bond were beginning to suspect that they couldn’t.

“Would you stop that? I’m trying to think!” snapped Bond, and Robertson flinched at the sound.

“Sorry - but we have to figure this out. Why are we here? I can’t think of any information I have that’s going to be useful to them, and neither of you are even involved in intelligence, so none of this makes any sense! Rob, have you proofed anything scandalous lately?”

Robertson screwed up their face, and shook their head.

“It just doesn’t make sense! The whole problem with our day to day  _ lives _ is that we don’t know anything about Cardassians!”

Robertson’s head shot up. Cardassians. Communications. That jogged a memory loose.

“What is it? Did you think of something?”

Robertson nodded, and signed the letter “M.”

“Something you saw in Ops? While you were talking to M?”

They nodded again, and made the sign for “PADD,” and “Cardassian.”

“M showed you one of the communications that she was working on, and it was… it was that Cardassian message Odo intercepted the other day, wasn’t it?”

Robertson nodded again.

“That was an accident. We shouldn’t even have that.” 

“Oh god,” gasped Savannah, her voice cracking, “Oh god, oh god, oh-”

The door slid open again, and in breezed Olnak and his two guards. They went immediately to Bond, restraining her.

“You’ve made a mistake,” said Bond, “listen to me, you’ve got the wrong people - the wrong situation even, you’ve got it all wrong!”

“How long did you rehearse that speech for, Starfleet? It’s a nice try,” said Olnak, activating the painstick for emphasis.

“I haven’t rehearsed anything - we’re not intelligence - Rob isn’t even  _ with _ Starfleet! They’re a  _ schoolteacher _ for crying out loud!”

“Oh, this one? This one is the schoolteacher? The schoolteacher that Commander Sisko himself trusts to read his confidential communiques? Yes, we know all about you. It’s laughable how easy you’re making this for me.”

Robertson kept their eyes trained on the floor, terrified, as they moved slowly to place themself in between him and Savannah. Olnak kept his eye on them.

“So I guess it’s just the one question that remains. Are you going to give me the information I want, or am I going to have to hurt one of you?” he said, keeping his eye trained on Robertson, but extending the painstick so that it was pointing directly at Bond’s face. Robertson shook their head emphatically, shaking from head to toe.

“They can’t answer you,” said Bond.

“Did I ask for your opinion?” said Olnak, not taking his eyes off Robertson.

“They’re nonverbal right now. Mute. Even if they wanted to say something to you, they couldn’t,” said Bond.

“They’re clearly faking it,” said Olnak, irritated. 

“Wow, stupid  _ and _ an asshole,” replied Bond.

“People don’t just stop talking for no reason!” 

“God, you guys really don’t know anything, do you. You capture three random idiots off DS9, stick ‘em in a cell, decide you want information that they don’t have, and focus your attention on traumatising the one who - fun fact for you - can’t speak while they’re intimidated!”

“Shut  _ UP _ !”

For a second it looked like Olnak was going to lunge at Bond, but he caught himself. Instead he turned, shocking Robertson instead. The terrible wail they let out sounded broken, inhuman almost. He held it for one, two, three… and that was it. Bond took a chance. She twisted in the grip of the two Cardassian guards, kicking out at the first one’s kneecaps as she ducked the swing of the second one. She swiped out at that guard’s feet, sending him stumbling, then headbutted him into the ground. Olnak pressed a button and an alarm sounded, but not before he slammed the painstick squarely into Bond’s chest, and held it there. Her eyes widened in pain, although she kept her teeth gritted. Her body was frozen in shock, unable to move.

One, two, three…

He kept it there, narrowing his eyes at her.

Five, six.

Bond’s eyes screwed shut, the two Cardassians began to pick themselves up.

Nine, ten, eleven…

The door slammed open as two more guards rushed in, but it didn’t matter because Bond’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the floor.

*

The security footage was so obvious it would have been laughable were it not so horrifying. M, Odo, Sisko, and Julian were huddled around the monitor, watching as three grey-skinned aliens dressed as very poor approximations of maintenance workers gassed the three friends in the replimat, piled them into a crate, and wheeled the crate out to their ship. It was the work of mere minutes, and yet they had managed to swipe three seemingly random people off the station.

“What could they possibly want with them?” said Julian. His face with drawn with worry, his distress evident in the increasingly erratic fidgeting of his hands.

“I think the better question would be, what have they done to annoy the Cardassians lately?” said a voice from the doorway. Garak had just let himself in, and peered at the blurry image on their viewscreen. He tapped one finger against it.

“Those grey gentlemen are Comu mercenaries. They’ve been known to be hired by Cardassians from time to time. Not by anybody worth paying attention to, but it happens.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, deciding it was Cardassians,” said Sisko, graciously skipping the part where Garak knew that this had happened at all.

“Not at all Commander,” said Garak mildly, “that’s also a Cardassian shipping crate they’re using.”

Sisko bowed his head, exhaling slowly in the way that he often did before he was about to make a difficult decision.

“In that case,” he said, unable to keep the wince from his features, “I think we’re going to have to call Dukat.”

*

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Dukat’s slightly bleary expression suggested that they had interrupted him in the middle of his sleep. Or in the middle of a nap. Whatever time it was on Cardassia Prime.

“This is serious, Dukat! Three of our people are gone - two of them are practically civilians!” said Sisko, struggling to keep his voice level. 

The corner of Dukat’s mouth lifted in a smile, and his shoulders shook a couple of times with suppressed laughter.

“Commander Sisko, I can assure you I know absolutely nothing about this situation. It sounds to me like you should perhaps invest in some, ah, more  _ solid _ security measures.”

“Dukat,” out of sight of the video feed, Sisko dug his nails into his hands, “please. These people are… workers, technicians, with very little experience in… whatever it is that’s currently being done to them.”

“It’s good they’re not that important then,” said Dukat, his face rearranging itself into an impassive mask, “it sounds like they won’t be missed. Dukat out.”

Sisko slammed his hand against the inactive screen.

“What do you think, Garak?” asked Sisko, “was he telling the truth?”

“I don’t pretend to be an expert,” said Garak, “but there’s nothing to be gained from the kidnapping of random Federation citizens. I think he was telling the truth. Unless, that is, our dear Lieutenants and the Professor have Cardassian secrets that are worth keeping.”

“But what do we do now?” pleaded Julian, his energy almost frantic at this point. Garak was by contrast a pillar of stillness, and he spoke slowly, calmly.

“Doctor, you need to think carefully about this. We need someone who has a contact in Cardassian space. Preferably someone with some sway. Perhaps even someone who holds one of us in high regard.”

Julian stared at him.

“Surely you don’t mean-”

“Yes, my dear doctor. That’s exactly who I mean.”

*

Useless.

Get up, no one’s coming for you.

No one’s coming for you.

No one’s coming for you.

Say something, she’s-

No one’s coming. You’re going to die here.

Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight in one-

You spoke before. You said something, he forced it out of-

Shattered on the rocks… What makes you a man is what you do when that storm-

Get up, say something. Say something. Say something. She’s-

You must look into that storm and  _ shout- _

Robertson buried their hands in their hair and tugged hard, desperate for their thoughts to start making sense again. They had dragged Bond’s unconscious body away. She was more trouble than she was worth, according to Olnak, and they would deal with her accordingly. Only Savannah and Robertson were left in their cell. They knew enough about Cardassians to know that their justice system favoured a guilty verdict, every time. Any other place, any other situation, they would take comfort in the knowledge of their own innocence. But now, doomed to whatever fate it was that this Olnak had in store for them, they felt only a terrible, hopeless chasm open up and threaten to swallow them whole. 

Only half-conscious of what they were doing, they reached out for Savannah, tugging gently at her sleeve.

“What is it?” she said, her voice wrecked from crying. They tugged again.

“Oh. Yeah, me too,” she said, and shuffled over a little so that their shoulders were touching. Robertson leaned their head to the side so that it rested against Savannah’s, and let out a shaky sigh.

*

Tarkalean tea. Extra Sweet. It sat like lead in his stomach, but Julian was desperate, and if he had to sit here and drink a gallon of the stuff he would endure it. Enabran Tain sat across from him with his own drink, in an oddly domestic scene that Julian would probably laugh at later. Much, much later. Right now, all it did was serve to increase the odd, disoriented fog of panic he had been in since discovering three of his friends had been taken from the station. Tain obviously sensed his distress, and he was doing a rather poor job of covering up how much delight he took in it.

In fact, he had known as soon as Julian had arrived what he was there for. Glinn Kivi Olnak was the name. A scrawny vole of a man if ever he had met one. Frankly, his mere existence was detestable to Tain, which Julian found promising.

“You must understand, Doctor Bashir, that I can’t simply arrange for prisoners to be handed over to the Federation. To do so is out of my powers, and besides, it would be akin to admitting we were wrong.”

“So nobody’s ever been wrongly tried on Cardassia?” said Julian, although the sinking feeling in his stomach told him he already knew the answer. Tain’s answering smile was terrifying in the hollow, joyless pleasure that it held.

“No,” he said.

“Surely there must be something I can-”

“You didn’t let me finish, Doctor,” said Tain. He took a sip from his glass.

“I said that there was no way we would let your friends be given over to the Federation. A Cardassian officer, on the other hand… A Gul, perhaps…”

“Who would do that? Do you know somebody?”

Tain made a gurgling noise at the back of his throat, and Julian realised with horror that he was laughing.

“I have somebody in mind. A Cardassian officer would be able to remove the prisoners for ‘extermination,’ and get them out of there relatively quickly.”

Julian’s hands tightened on his drink. There was a catch here, every fiber in his body was tensed for it.

“Of course,” said Tain, “the person in question would need to carry out a little something for me too. Something to make it worth my while.”

“What would they need to agree to?” said Julian, fighting to keep his voice level. Tain raised an eye ridge.

“Why, they would need to humiliate Olnak in front of his men. Make them lose faith in him. The man is an embarrassment, and we will be stronger without him. If the man who does the job is the one I have in mind, it will be a particular pleasure for me to have him carry out my dirty work.”

“Well, I can’t imagine that will be too difficult,” said Julian, although if anything that made his suspicion grow, “who did you have in mind for the job?” 

“Why, my  _ dear doctor _ ,” said Tain, sending an unpleasant shiver down Julian’s spine, “I was thinking of you.”

*

Robertson watched the new officer come in as if they were watching him through murky water. Everything seemed increasingly off, as if reality were fading into something different, something slightly to the left that made the tips of their fingers numb and squeezed like a vice around their head. They were floating somewhere outside of the present, the fragile elastic of reality stretched out as thin as it would go, in a place the Gul who had just walked in couldn’t reach. 

Next to them, somebody’s breathing patterns changed. Savannah!

“Pathetic,” spat the Gul, and once more everything snapped back to the present, so hard and so fast Robertson’s heart raced like they’d run a mile. They knew that voice, no matter how cold and impassive it was trying to seem. It couldn’t be. Savannah’s hand tightened on the hem of their shirt.

“Look at them. At a glance, I’d say they’re barely more than children. Scared, weak, pathetic little creatures.”

The new Cardassian who had entered the room was tall and slender, with long legs and almost delicate looking neck ridges that sloped off into wide shoulders. His eyes were big and green, and doing their best to narrow into some semblance of malice. 

“What did you do to them, Olnak?”

“Nothing much - a few prods with a Klingon painstick to keep them in line.”

“And they’ve been reduced to this. Tell me, where is the logic in your line of reasoning? They’re clearly completely untrained.”

“But the schoolteacher-”

“The schoolteacher? You think the Federation is going to divulge their secrets to some, what? Babysitter of small children?”

“Gul-”

“Shut up,” The Gul waved a dismissive hand, then sneered down at Robertson and Savannah.

“These will have to be disposed of without a trace.”

“Yes, immediately-”

“No no Olnak, your ‘services’ aren’t required. All that is required is for you to get out of my way while I clean up your mess. Permanently.”

The Gul snapped his fingers, and Savannah and Robertson were pulled to their feet and marched out the door, dizzy from equal parts exhaustion, elation, and trepidation. 

*

Bond was next. She had put up quite a fight it seemed - her nose was bleeding, her knuckles were bruised, and she was sporting a mottled purple-red blossom all over her right cheekbone. She hadn’t recognised him - had tried to fight her way out, taking out two guards, screaming and struggling against a third and a fourth until the Gul had grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look, really  _ look _ . Finally, she had allowed herself to be recaptured and taken, and for that Julian was grateful - though the cruelty of it all, the guilt of it weighed heavily on him.

_ You’re nearly there, _ said Garak’s voice in his earpiece. Garak had uncharacteristically been all business the whole time, feeding him the lines to say like they were second nature to him. Well, in all likelihood, they were.

_ Remember, these three are going to their death. They’re beneath you. Don’t be too kind to them Doctor, there will be ample time for that later.  _

*

And ample time there was. Once the ship Tain had lent him was out of Cardassian space, they made a rendezvous with the runabout Garak was currently piloting. 

Julian, Bond, Savannah and Robertson materialised inside the living quarters. Julian immediately fumbled with a device on his chest, pressing a few buttons and then pulling the circular piece off. The Cardassian features on his face flickered and then disappeared, revealing his pale, worried face. Savannah ran to him immediately, burying her face in his chest. He held her tightly, his hand gently resting on the back of her head, stroking her hair as she sobbed. 

Bond and Robertson looked around the room, taken by surprise. Somebody had pulled all of the mattresses out of the sleeping quarters and laid them out on the floor, covering them with what looked like all of the blankets and pillows in the entire of Starfleet, piled up into a cozy nest.

“I have heard that Cardassian interrogation techniques can be quite trying,” said Garak from the doorway. He made no move to come into the room, but he was carrying a tray with a teapot and several cups on it. He held it out, but Bond waved him in.

“You don’t need to tiptoe around us Garak, we know who you are,” she said. Robertson nodded, managing a shaky smile. Garak inclined his head and stepped into the room. 

“Bond,” said Julian, “let’s have a look at those injuries, shall we?” he said. He held his tricorder with his right hand, the other arm keeping Savannah pressed closely to his side as she clung to him while he worked. 

“Looks like you gave as good as you got,” he said, passing the tricorder over her bruised and split knuckles.

“Yeah, those guys are dickheads,” agreed Bond, “wish you’d let me have a few more of ‘em before you got us out of there.”

“Yes, well. Unfortunately we’ll have to agree to disagree there,” said Julian, although he was smiling.

Robertson had sunk down onto their knees in the pile of blankets, looking a little lost. They flinched away when Garak handed them a cup of tea, but sheepishly accepted it once their mind caught up with what was happening. They were floating again.

“You know, I never realised how much I missed your little interjections in my shop, or in the replimat. Especially what with all of the Terran literature Julian has me reading now,” said Garak. He knelt next to them, although he left a gap. Robertson blinked and looked at him in confusion.

“Just the other day in fact, Julian finally got me onto reading The Hobbit. You don’t have to tell me it’s one of your favourites, I do remember that conversation. Dreadful book, even by your standards. I haven’t gotten very far yet, but it seems like all they’re doing so far is having dinner. Terran literature does have rather an odd fascination with food and tea time, doesn’t it?”

Robertson watched him as he spoke, steam curling up from the cup they held.

“Drink your tea dear, you won’t want it to go cold. Anyway, as I was saying-”

“All done!” said Julian. Bond flexed her hand a few times, and patted her face.

“The muscle spasms are going to last for a couple of days unfortunately, but they shouldn’t be any more than a mild annoyance now.”

“Good as new,” she said, trying for a smile that didn’t quite get there. Julian squeezed her shoulder with his free hand.

“Alright, well. Savannah, any injuries that need seeing to?”

She looked up at him and shook her head. He smiled fondly down and thumbed away a stray tear from her cheek.

“That’s the way. We’ll get you fed and rested, and you’ll be right as rain before you know it. Robertson?”

Robertson’s head snapped towards him, their eyes once again a little wild with fear. They hesitated, and shook their head.

“Bastards got them with the painstick too. Twice, actually,” said Bond.

Robertson shook their head again. They wanted to run. To run. to retreat. Flee, take flight, turn tail, clear off, take to one’s heels, escape-

I escaped

I am escaping

I have escaped

I will escape

I will have escaped

I was escaping

I will be escaping

I will be

I will-

“As I was saying earlier, the part in The Hobbit I really can’t stand is that awful wizard. Gandalf. No manners whatsoever, if a man wants to sit alone by himself and eat a solitary dinner let him, I say,” continued Garak, “not to mention the inordinate amount of time spent describing every little physical detail of the place. I have a brain, you know. Did they think it not worthwhile to allow the reader at least some room to use their imagination?”

The world settled back into what they could hear, what they could see, what they could feel - the soft blankets under their legs. Their legs were cramped. And Garak - Garak was still talking. They took a deep breath, forcing themself to relax.

“H-” 

The syllable came out in a half-gasp. Garak paused in his ramble.

“How-” 

The rest of the room had gone quiet now, and Robertson drew another breath.

“How dare you! The Hobbit is a literary masterpiece, and you’re nothing but an awful old gecko!” 

*

They were floating again. But this time, it was different. There was a hand around their waist, grounding them. Their head was resting near somebody else’s shoulder. They were curled around yet another person too. It was warm. They had been sleeping. The blankets were soft.

They emerged slightly further into wakefulness, and realised that it was Garak who had his arm slung around their waist. They blinked again, and found that the shoulder belonged to Savannah, who in turn had her head tucked under Bashir’s chin. Curled around the other side of Garak was the faint outline of Bond. Warmth flooded their chest, and they couldn’t help but squeeze Garak’s hand in delight, twitching in surprise when the hand squeezed back.

“Go back to sleep, my dear” came the soft murmur from behind them.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

*

Night shift in ops took a little while to go back to normal. Robertson wouldn’t leave their room at night anymore, which was understandable. Savannah made a decision each night whether she would stay and nap in the infirmary (generally when one Doctor Bashir was working late) or simply go straight back to her quarters after work. And Bond was wisely relegated to the day shift, which granted, was not much of an improvement, but at least it wasn’t dark. The three of them had taken to checking on each other, and if Garak seemed to be making more opportunities to point out what repairs their uniforms needed so that they could come and have a cup of tea in his shop, well, nobody mentioned it.

It was several weeks before M heard the familiar sound of the lifts being used during her shift. First to arrive were Robertson and Garak - as it turned out Robertson, still ever the insomniac, had fallen asleep on his couch mid-conversation. 

“You said it was a special occasion?” said Robertson, clearly not quite awake yet. Savannah and Bond showed up next, having decided that a mutual escort was the best course of action for their lingering anxieties around the station at night. 

“It sure is!” said M, holding up a pie that she had been keeping warm.

“You guys missed out on the last one, so I thought I’d make it up to you!”

“Brought the tea!”

Julian’s voice rang out from the lift, and indeed he was holding a tray with a teapot and several cups.

“I heard there was going to be an impromptu picnic in ops tonight, and if you think I was going to miss out on that, well you were wrong!” he declared, holding the tray aloft in one hand like a waiter. 

“That’s so sweet of you,” said Robertson, peering at the pie. The crust looked golden and flaky, and it smelled wonderful.

“It’s your welcome home pie,” said M.

Deep Space Nine was going to feel a little disconnected from the concept of home for a while. But perhaps it would indeed be made easier with a group of friends, eating apple pie off a very expensive console in the dead of night.


End file.
